Experts of the Trade
by DoctorNicotine
Summary: Desmond might finally get to become an Assassin. With everyone gone and the Apple his life is free and he can join the Order. But the Order is corrupt, not at all what he remembers it to be. Is Desmond the one to save it? Rated T for swearing and some violence.
1. Training

**Chapter One: Training**

"In 1.2.3. Hold 1.2.3. Out 1.2.3.

Steady.

Breathing normal.

Heart rate slowing.

Now, try and stand up."

Desmond groans and tries to push himself up, palms pressing against gravel, but its sharpness doesn't register. Everything else hurt too much. He falls down onto his back with another groan.

"Oh, c'mon you pussy. Sit up! I've only had you training for a few hours!"

"We've been free-running and fighting for eight hours now. Please... have mercy... just a little break oh master assassin," Desmond murmurs dramatically with his eyes closed against the bright daylight. A smirk is playing across his lips.

"Fine."

A thud as Desmond receives a kick to the ribs. "Half an hour. Then I want you back in the ring."

Desmond waits to stand up until the soft crunch of shoes on gravel has faded. Grinning, he walks back towards Home.

Home was nothing special, but it had running water, and sometimes the power came on, so it was enough for Desmond. It's the biggest building in an abandoned housing development in Utah. The whole 30 acres of it is run down and decrepit, cast aside to turn into sand. Hidden and forgotten, it's enough for Desmond.

He saunters into what was supposed to be the lower level of a parking garage, white lines indicating parking spots barely there. It's mercifully cool in the shaded concrete walls as he walks towards the middle of the garage. Pulling open the rusty door of a storage closet, he rummages through their supplies until he finds what he is looking for. Giving a small cry of triumph he pulls it out and heads back to where he came in and back out into the sun.


	2. Morning

**Chapter Two: Morning**

"I said half an hour and then I want to see you in the fighting ring." A shadow descends over Desmond and he frowns, lifting up his sunglasses to look up at the source. Grinning, he lowers them again and closes his eyes.

"Sorry master. Simply lost track of time."

"Get up. Now."

"What, do you want to use my chair?" Desmond stands up, gesturing to the ratty and torn beach chair. There are faint patterns still visible on its cheap fabric, though it's hard to tell what they are other than the fact that their all blue in one shade or another.

"Where the hell did you even find this?"

Training forgotten for the moment as curiosity wins over.

"Did you know that there's a little dollar store in this town?" a nod. "I take it you've never bothered to go inside. Well, I guess they wanted to build a pool or something 'cause they have a ton of beach stuff still in the back. That where I got these too." Desmond twirls his sunglasses in his hands.

"I give you a few minutes to relax and use the time to tan. You're hopeless."

"Hey now boss, don't say that. C'mon," Desmond slips his shades back on and gives a cocky grin. "Race ya."

They take off sprinting, kicking up dust and barely making a sound on the dry concrete.

Breakfast smells, wafting in from the next room. Eggs. Toast. Coffee. Ohmysweetlord is that bacon? Desmond drools into his pillow. Today was gonna be really great. He had beat his trainer in a race last evening and this was what he had won. Tasty breakfast that he isn't making, someone is making it for him.

Seeing no sense in lounging in bed, Desmond wiggles out of the sheets, pulls on a pair of pants, forgoing the shirt, and strolls into the kitchen.

"My my Simon, is that all for me?" Desmond drapes his arms over Simon's shoulders lazily. Simon whacks him on the forehead with the spatula he is using to cook the scrambled eggs.

"Step away from the cook while he's working or he will pour bacon grease down your back." he snaps.

"Well, aren't we a bit snippy this morning?" Desmond mutters while slouching down into one of the creaking wooden chairs that surround their modest dining table.

"I'm snippy," Simon cries over his shoulder "because you cheated in our race yesterday,"

"Hey I didn't cheat! It was purely accidental that sand got kicked into your face when I was running ahead of you!"

"-and now I have to make you goddamned breakfast! Rest assured I'm gonna bust your ass in training today for this." Simon finishes with a small growl, flipping the eggs onto a plate and shaking hot sauce on them from a small bottle.

"Aw c'mon boss, look on the bright side! You get to enjoy this wonderful and delicious meal with me." Desmond grins, rubbing his hands as a plate loaded with bacon is placed in front of him.

Simon flops down into the chair opposite Desmond, handing him a plate, fork, and knife, along with a large glass of orange juice.

"Yeah whatever. It's the fact that I have to share it with you that makes this all so terrible."

Desmond raises his glass of juice. "You know you love me."

Simon smiles and repeats the gesture. "And you know I don't. So I'll never understand why you insist that I do."

A few moments of peace as knives scrape against porcelain and food is chewed and swallowed.

Desmond put down his fork after taking a bite of eggs. "You're not really upset are you boss? You're not gonna ride me too hard."

Simon stops, toast half-way to his mouth and smiles widely without showing any teeth, which makes it all the more unnerving. "Eat your breakfast boy."


	3. Thinking Back

**Chapter Three: Thinking Back**

Desmond's fighting was improving, he could say that much. Simon even grudgingly admitted that he was getting better. He'd had basic training on The Farm, but he never got beyond that before he ran away. And there was still after effects of the bleeding effect. None of the flashbacks but he still remembered a few moves from his time in the Animus.

_Simon let out another loud scoff._

_"Can I help you with something?" Desmond ground out, punching the makeshift dummy made of pillows and pieces of plywood. He rolled to the ground and pretended to hook his leg around the dummy's legs and send his enemy to the ground. Standing back up he flicked sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand._

_Simon was watching him, leaning on another mannequin, arms folded across his chest._

_"Where'd you learn to fight? The 13th century?"_

_"Yes." Desmond deadpanned._

_Simon's face flickered in agitation for a moment._

_"You're not gonna be able to hold your own against guys from the 21st century. You know, the one were in now." Simon stepped closer to Desmond, unfolding his arms. "Men are taller now," he raised his arm up as if Desmond needed help understanding. "Have guns,"_

_Desmond scowled. He had fought against men with guns when he was Ezio. But Simon wasn't finished._

_"-And in hand-to-hand combat they're going to have a completely different style than you're used to. Ever heard of karate? Judo? Boxing?" he raised his fists and pretended to jab at Desmond's chest. He swatted his fists away with a pointed glare._

_"Lighten up bro." Simon punched him playfully in the arm, but he didn't smile at all. "Sure, your method might work to surprise someone, show them something they've never seen before. But first we gotta work on defense, which means completely reworking you."_

_"Where do we begin?" Desmond asked, desperate to prove himself._

_Simon tilted his head back, leaning leisurely into the dummy again. "Basic fighting stance."_

_That was simple, something he'd learned from his own father._

_Simon nodded in approval._

_"Then let's begin." Simon lunged at Desmond, attempting to knock him off his feet by pure force alone. Desmond had to admit he was completely caught off guard by this, he was just expecting to learn a few new defense moves._

_He was knocked right onto his ass by Simon, and he gave an 'unf' of pain and surprise. Simon quickly had his hands on Desmond's shoulders, and was about to go for his neck before Desmond grabbed his wrists. This guy didn't waste any time. He brought his knee up to Simon's balls with a jolt, releasing his wrists and scrambling away so he could stand up. Sure, maybe he was playing dirty, but Simon had just attacked him out of nowhere! He didn't know what else to do!_

_Simon was still kneeling on the ground, one hand on the ground the other on his crotch. Did Desmond really hit him that hard?_

_"Quick thinking, good." Simon coughed out._

_Desmond smiled, but felt kind of guilty about hitting him that hard. He barely had time to drop his smile before Simon reached out of his ankle and yanked, sending him sprawling on his ass yet again._

_"Think I'm that easy boy?" Simon was suddenly straddling him, holding Desmond's wrist above his head. He leaned in closer. "You got a lot to learn."_

_Hardly thinking, Desmond jerked his head up, his forehead colliding with Simon's nose. Simon released on his wrists to try and stop the blood that was already dripping out of his most likely broken nose. Desmond used this free hand to punch him in the stomach hard, then used all of his weight to flip them both onto their sides. They lay there panting and sweating, Desmond had a firm grip on Simon's forearms and Simon still had his legs wrapped around Desmond's waist, even tighter now._

_"Fine so you know how to wrestle like any ten year old. But we still have yet to see if you can actually fight." Simon's voice was slightly off because of his broken nose._

_Desmond smiled. "I'd be happy to show you when you're feeling better._

_Simon scowled and wriggled his leg out from underneath Desmond, wrenching his arms out of his grip as well. Then he sauntered off to one of the rundown buildings, running a hand through his blonde hair._

That was six months ago. Ah memories.


End file.
